


I Got This

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Unwanted Sexual Advances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean’s use of a pick up line may have gotten him into more trouble than he bargained for.





	I Got This

**Author's Note:**

> Implied sex between Dean and Mara could be considered of dubious consent.

 

Dean swallowed the last of his whiskey, set the glass on the table, and pushed himself to his feet. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said, clapping his hands together.

You gave him a weary smile and tipped your glass his direction. “Good luck, tiger,” you said. 

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he mumbled. “I got this.”

You sat back and crossed you arms over your chest. It was always fun watching Dean pick up girls in a bar. Plus, it brought back a lot of interesting memories. It was, after all, how the two of you had met all those years ago. You’d picked him up in a bar outside Flagstaff, though to hear him tell it, he’d picked you up. Six of one, half dozen of the other.  Not that it mattered who had picked up who, you’d ended up having a very intense, very sex-filled two month relationship. You’d called it off when you realized you were falling for the green-eyed hunter. The thought of something permanent and substantial with Dean had scared you. There wasn’t a day that passed that you didn’t regret that decision. You wondered if Dean regretted it, too. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the two of you from having the occasional hook-up, especially when you’d both struck out for the night.

Except tonight it didn’t look like Dean was going to strike out. While you’d been reminiscing about how the two of you had met, he’d been busy chatting up one of the girls at the bar, some blonde, skinny thing with legs up to her neck, and a skirt so short you could tell her natural hair color was not blonde. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when his voice drifted your way in between _Delta Dawn_ and _She Works Hard for the Money_ playing on the jukebox.

“I lost my phone number, can I have yours?”

Apparently he didn’t need a line better than that, because twenty minutes later, Dean was swinging by the table to grab his jacket, a smile on his face.

“Seriously, Dean,” you shook your head. “That line worked? It was so cheesy.”

“I told you, I got this,” he laughed. He gave you a thumbs up, throwing out a “don’t wait up” over his shoulder as he walked away. You weren’t quite as lucky, finding most of the guys in the bar either too young, too loud, or too desperate for your liking. More importantly, none of them were Dean. You paid the tab and headed out for the night less than an hour after he left.

You were only a few feet out the door when you noticed the Impala still parked where Dean had left it. It wasn’t like him to not take his car. You looked around, wondering if you’d get a glimpse of Dean’s bare ass through a car window, or maybe there was a house or hotel nearby. But the bar was at the end of a dirt road, off the beaten path, nothing close by except a gas station and a boarded up pizza joint. Maybe they’d left in her car. Unlikely, but it had been known to happen on occasion. 

You pulled your own keys from your jacket pocket and unlocked your nondescript Honda parked next to Dean’s Impala. You couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. You chanced a look around, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Dean wasn’t an idiot, in fact, he was probably the best hunter you knew. You were sure he'd get his car and stumble into the motel room around two or three in the morning, reeking of sex and cheap perfume. Just the thought made you roll your eyes. You couldn't wait. 

* * *

“Dean, answer your phone,” you mumbled, your head half under the pillow, your hair falling over your eyes.

The ringing continued, pausing for a few seconds before starting again. You threw the pillow to the floor and kicked the blankets off, angrily pushing yourself upright. Why the fuck Dean wouldn’t answer his phone was beyond you, but you were certainly going to give him an earful about it.

You squinted, surprised that the sun was shining into the room. One look at the clock told you it was because it almost eight in the morning. Dean must have been really quiet when he came in last night.

The phone started ringing again, interrupting your thoughts. You stumbled out of the bed, noticing immediately that the other bed was still made and the chains were off the door, the salt line in front of it unbroken. 

Dean hadn’t come back last night. 

“Shit,” you grumbled, snatching the phone from its cradle, the incessant ringing driving you crazy.

“Hello?” you snapped

“Y/N? Is that you?”

“Sam?” Your confusion was only growing. You couldn’t understand why Sam was calling the room or where Dean was, why he hadn’t come back last night.

“Where the hell is Dean?” His voice was raised and he was very close to yelling. “Why isn’t he answering his phone?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, calm down,” you muttered. The younger Winchester had sat out this hunt, staying at the bunker, waiting on a dislocated shoulder to heal. “I have no idea what’s going on. He left with some barfly last night and I haven’t seen him since. Give me a second, let me see if he sent me a text.” You dropped the phone to the table and grabbed your cell phone from beneath the pillow where you kept it when you slept, next to your gun.

Nothing.

For good measure, you pushed open the bathroom door, silently praying he was in there. It was empty.

You picked the phone up. “I don’t know, Sam,” you said. “He isn’t here. He’s not answering his phone?”

“No, he’s not,” Sam grumbled. “I’ve been trying to reach him since last night, but nothing. It’s not like him to not call me back.”

“Alright, let me throw on some clothes, head back to the bar, see if I can figure out where the hell he is,” you said. “He’s probably passed out in his car.” 

“Call me as soon as you find him,” Sam ordered.

“I will, I promise.”

A half an hour later you were parked in front of the bar, beside the Impala. The bar was closed, the parking lot empty. You turned off your engine, climbed out of your car, and peered through the windows of Dean’s car. Everything looked like it had last night when you’d left - box of tapes on the seat, green Coleman cooler in the back, along with some folded clothes and an old quilt.

You yanked on the door handle but it wouldn’t open. You put your hands against the glass, squinting to get a better look. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

“Fuck!” You smacked the roof of the car. Just as you opened the door to your Honda, you heard a ringing phone. You followed the sound, dropping to your knees in the gravel beside the Impala. Beneath the car was Dean’s phone, the screen cracked, but obviously still working. And beside the phone was a gun. Not just any gun. Dean’s gun. 

You laid flat and snagged the gun and phone from beneath the car. You hit the button to answer.

“Sam? It’s me.” You pushed yourself to your feet, holding Dean’s phone between your shoulder and your ear, his gun in your hand. “Something’s definitely wrong. The Impala is still at the bar, I found his phone and his gun under it, like they’d been tossed there.” You dropped into the front seat of your car, the door open as you surveyed the area, Sam cursing in your ear. 

You tuned him out as you looked around, looking for anything that might help you find Dean. The bar really was in a crappy part of town - outskirts of town, end of a dirt road, nothing out here but the bar and the boarded up pizza joint you’d noticed last night. An abandoned pizza joint with a faint light in the back window.

“Sam, I’ll call you back.” You disconnected without waiting for an answer and shoved Dean’s phone in your pocket. You exchanged his gun for yours from the waistband of your jeans and hurried across the parking lot to the back entrance of the decrepit building. You twisted the knob, but it was locked. You rested your ear against the door, hoping you’d hear something, anything, but it was silent. You pulled your lockpick kit from inside your jacket pocket and crouched in front of the door. Less than a minute later, you had the door open and you were slipping inside.

The light you’d noticed when you were outside was a single, dim bulb hanging just inside the door, above a storage area that looked like it had once held aprons and towels, a few remnants still remained on the shelves. Deeper in the bowels of the building, it grew darker, the thick boards covering the windows blocking almost all the light filtering in from outside. You paused, pulling out your flashlight and clicking it on, waiting for your eyes to adjust before stepping further into the building. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something didn’t feel right, something was off. Every instinct was screaming at you, screaming that something was wrong, and your gut was telling you it involved Dean. You moved quickly through the kitchen and dining area, checking every nook and cranny, before heading down a dark hallway, toeing open each door you passed, finding them empty. At the end of the hall was the last door, closed, the only door you’d found completely shut and latched since you’d come in.

You eased it open, listening. You couldn’t hear anything, but that feeling in the pit of your stomach had only intensified. You knew you needed to see whatever was behind that door. You took a tentative step, then another, your foot suddenly floating over empty air. You yanked it back, reaching out for anything to keep you from falling, your hand falling on a wooden railing, several splinters digging into your palm. 

You winced, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself quiet. Stairs. It was a set of stairs, leading into a basement. Of course, because every scary, abandoned building in the middle of nowhere had to have a basement. You took a deep breath and crept down the stairs, keeping close to the wall, gun in front of you.

You turned left when you hit the bottom of the stairs, slipping around a blind corner. A small lantern was lit in the corner of the room, illuminating a half naked Dean tied to a pillar in the center of the room. You looked around and when you didn’t see anyone but Dean, you dropped your gun to your side and hurried across the basement.

“Jesus, Dean,” you muttered, cupping his cheek in your hand. You slapped his face, gently at first, but with more force when he wouldn’t wake up. “Dean!”

“Ouch,” he grumbled, tipping his head away from you. “Alright, alright, I’m up. Christ, quit smackin’ me.”

“Are you okay?” you whispered, pulling the knife from your boot and slicing at the ropes holding his hands.

“Yeah,” he nodded, teeth chattering. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” you muttered. He had cuts and bruises on his face, his freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his now pale skin, he was shaking, trembling from the cold, and he was gaunt, like he’d lost ten, maybe fifteen pounds in the twelve hours since you’d last seen him. “You look like shit.”

“That’s what happens when a succubus tries to drain you and you fight back,” Dean snorted, grabbing his jeans from where’d they’d been tossed in a corner. 

“A...a succubus did this?” you stammered. “Did-did you guys...you know?”

He rolled his eyes, yanking his t-shirt over his head. “If you must know, yes. I didn’t figure out what she was until it was almost too late. I managed to fight her off, but I was really weak, so she was able to knock me out. When I woke up, I was sitting outside, and she was unlocking this place. I tried to get up, run, but I was really weak, from the, the, whatever. I was at the Impala when she knocked me out.”

“Must be why I found these.” You pulled out his phone and gun and handed them to him. 

He nodded his thanks and took them, shoving his phone in his pocket and his gun in his waistband. “You ever kill one?” he asked.

“Never had the pleasure,” you grinned. “What do we need to do?”

“Soak a silver knife in a victim’s blood and stab it through the heart,” he answered. He pointed to the knife in your hand. “Is that one silver?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “of course.”

“Good, we’ll need it,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

The door at the top of the stairs slammed into the wall, making you jump. A high pitched, squeaky voice called Dean’s name. He flinched, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. He held his hand out and you immediately knew what he wanted. You slapped the knife into his hand, watching as he sliced his arm, coating the knife in his blood. He pointed to the opposite wall and an open space beneath the stairs.

“Go!” he ordered, his mouth against your ear. “I got this!”

You shook your head, but he shoved you, and you stumbled, tripping over your feet, falling into the tiny nook underneath the stairs, just as the succubus stepped into the light cast by the lantern in the corner.

“Dean, are you trying to get away again?” she laughed. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last night?”

“Mara,” Dean mumbled. “So good to see you. You come to see if I changed my mind?”

You heard shuffling sounds, a loud crack, and the sound of the knife clattering to the floor. You peered around the corner to see the succubus, Mara apparently, standing in front of Dean, one hand around his throat, holding him against the wall. He had that “fuck you” smirk on his face.

“I don’t need you to change your mind,” she purred. “I just need you.” Her mouth covered his, despite his struggles, her free hand twisting in his t-shirt.

You pushed yourself out from behind the stairs, flying across the room, snatching the knife from the floor as you passed it. You plunged it into the succubus’s back, right between her shoulder blades. She froze, her head thrown back, a bloodcurdling scream coming from her, the sound echoing off the walls. She let go of Dean, dropping him to the floor, clawing at her back, trying desperately to grab the knife. She staggered around the room, finally falling to the ground at the bottom of the stairs, her flesh melting away, turning to ash, a bright orange light flashing through the room as she disintegrated.

* * *

Dean was stretched out on the motel room bed, his head propped on a pillow, asleep, when you emerged from the shower. You took a minute to take him in; he had several dark, purple marks on his neck from being held against the wall, a good sized mouse beneath his right eye, bruises up and down his torso - he wouldn’t say how he’d gotten them, and of course, the deep cut on his arm where he’d coated the knife in his blood. He’d been limping when you’d gotten back to the room, said he’d pulled a muscle in his thigh or something. He’d gone straight into the bathroom and taken the longest, hottest shower you’d ever known Dean Winchester to take. You couldn’t blame him.

“You gonna stand there staring at me all day?” he mumbled.

“You’re awake?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I’m awake.” He opened his eyes, rubbed a hand down his face, a sigh coming from him. He held his hand out to you. “Come here.” 

You crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed. He ran his hand up your leg and took hold of your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He gave a gentle tug, pulling you down beside him. You stretched out next to him, your leg thrown over his, your head tucked in the crook of his arm, his chin resting on top of your head.

“No more picking up chicks in bars, what do you say?” you said after a couple of minutes.

Dean chuckled, his lips pressed to your temple. “Maybe you should be the only chick I pick up from now on,” he whispered. 

You tilted his head back to look at him. “What are you saying, Dean?”

“I’m saying, maybe we should stop playing these games with each other and finally admit that we belong together,” he replied. He turned on his side and wrapped his arms around you, his forehead resting against yours. “How about it, Y/N? How about I save all my cheesy pick up lines for you?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” you giggled, kissing the underside of his jaw. “But I expect you to step up your game. I won’t be won over so easily.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. He brushed his nose against yours, before catching your lips in his and kissing you until your entire body was humming with desire.

“Or you could just keep doing that,” you sighed. “That’ll work, too.”

Dean laughed and pulled you closer, until you were flush against him. “As soon as I’m up to it, I’m gonna do a lot more than that.”

“Promise?” you breathed.

“Promise,” he chuckled. “I got this.”


End file.
